


Letters to a Flower Bud

by SabineElectricHeart (TheLifeAndLiesOfFerns)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Epistolary, F/M, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Nicknames, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 11:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30071340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLifeAndLiesOfFerns/pseuds/SabineElectricHeart
Summary: Sylvain, fearing for his poor communication skills, writes letters to his daughter, from birth to marriage.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier & Original Character(s), Sylvain Jose Gautier/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Letters to a Flower Bud

It was a mild evening of Summer in Gautier. The date was the 22nd of Blue Sea Moon, day of the Goddess’ Rite of Rebirth of Imperial Year 1190. A blessed day, not only because it was the holiest festival of their religion, one his wife is the chief officer of, but also because it was the day his first daughter would be born.

Babies that arrived on this world on the same day the Goddess star was once again seen in the sky were favoured by fates, they were granted assured lifelong happiness, and he came to find out that his happiness is now conditional on hers.

“How you feeling, Sylvain?” Ingrid asks, quietly.

The ostentatious margravial chambers was quiet, as the nursing mother was fast asleep from exhaustion on the cleaned bed just next to them and neither one would want to wake her. After all, Byleth had just given birth to the Gautier scion.

Sylvain sits by her side in a stuffed armchair. His legs feel weak and he feels hunger settling on his stomach, but he could care less about how uncomfortable he feels. Not when he has his little girl in his arms. This tiny little bundle is his. His girl, his child.

Isolde Gautier.

“I… I don’t know how I feel.” He breathed out against his conjoined hands in an unspoken prayer.

For once in his life, Sylvain did not have anything to say. No smart comeback or a funny joke. His little girl has only been in this world for a few hours and she has rendered him completely speechless.

“She’s going to be the death of me. I just know it.” He mumbles softly as his daughter leans into his chest.

Sylvain is not the best with his emotions. Despite his so-called silver tongue, he had found little success whenever he tried to articulate his feelings into intelligible sentences. Sometimes, he says things he does not mean and other times he says things the wrong way. A part of him is terrified that there will be so much he does not say to his girl, or that he will, though words or actions, screw things up somehow.

“You are thinking too much, Sylvain.” Ingrid chuckles softly as she watches the cogwheels turn in her old friend’s head.

The redhead sighed once more. “I can’t really seem to help it. This baby got me wrapped around her tiny little finger.”

Ingrid pulls up another chair from their sitting area and sits beside Sylvain.

“It reminds me of when you two first started courting, in a weird way. You were completely whipped, you know that?” The blonde woman teases as she gestures to his wife’s sleeping body. “Clinging to her all the time and all those disgustingly sweet letters you wrote her when she had to return to Garreg Mach.”

Sylvain smiles fondly as he thinks of the love letters he used to leave his then-intended. Averting her minty eyes, Byleth had quietly admitted how much she appreciated them, how much she depended on them to spend her days alone at the monastery. As for himself, he loved imagining the smile on her face as she opened a new one.

Then, a wide smile passes through his face.

“Ingrid, dearest, you have given me a wonderful idea.” The redhead jumps to his feet. “Here, do you want to hold her?”

Ingrid’s vivid green eyes widen as Sylvain carefully hands him Isolde.

“Hi there, love, I am your auntie Ingrid.” The knight coos as she cuddles the new-born to her bosom.

Sylvain walks to his desk, lights a candle with a flick, dips his quill on ink and starts writing with a flourish on the paper.

_Hello, my darling Isolde,_

_It is your father here. I am writing this because I cannot talk to you right now because you will not remember. You have only been in this world for a few hours but you are already my whole world. You and your mum have stolen my heart. When you get older, I will tell you all about your old man and how cool he is but I want you to know that you have made the great Sylvain Gautier speechless. I admit, I even cried when you were born. You are so small and after you were born you cried for me and your mother and it shattered my heart in the best possible way. When I held you, I could feel everything melt away. You grabbed my finger with your tiny little hand and fell asleep in my arms. I am so excited to see what this world will bring you and what you will do in this world. I will always be here to protect you. I love you so much my darling flower bud._

_Your dad,_

_Sylvain_

* * *

“Come on, flower bud, say dada.” Sylvain coos as he shakes a stuffed bunny in front of Isolde. “Dada. Da-da.”

Their holy monarch, Dimitri, watches in amusement as his friend tries to bribe his goddaughter with a stuffed bunny so she would talk. Isolde has been on the verge of saying her first words for weeks now and Sylvain is eager to hear them. The Blue Lions are even running a betting pool to guess what word it will be.

“Sylvain, honey, do stop pressuring our child into speaking.” Byleth calls from the armchair on the far end of the room. “The more you annoy her, the less she will be willing to talk.”

“Di-di!” She holds her hands out to Sylvain reaching for the toy.

“Not Didi, love, Dada.” The man insisted. “Come on Isolde, you can say it. Say dada.”

Setting down her book, the Archbishop walks over to Sylvain and leans down to kiss his daughter cheek.

“She will talk when she is ready, Sylvain. Not when you offer her a meagre stuffed animal.” The woman said, pointedly, at her husband.

Sylvain sighs and sets down the bunny making Isolde very unhappy. “It’s not _meagre_. I bought Sweetbun from an Adrestian merchant. He said all the children in Enbarr loved it.”

Byleth looks unimpressed with her husband. “ _Sweetbun_ , Sylvain? Really?”

Dimitri watches as Isolde’s lip forms a small pout.

“Do not be sad, dearest Isolde.” Dimitri coos as he picks up the bunny.

He begins to shake it around and lightly taps her button nose with the bunny’s nose. His goddaughter lets out a loud laugh and makes grabby hands towards the King and the bunny.

“Dima!” She cries happily making everyone stop.

“Dima?” Dimitri asks confused as he sets the bunny down.

Isolde reaches towards her godfather once again. “Dima!”

She is clearly talking to Dimitri, who looks at Sylvain with a grin on his face. “That’s right, Isolde! I’m Dima!”

“No, no, I cannot accept this! Dima is _not_ a real word.” Sylvain whines as he grabs the bunny from Dimitri’s hand and coos to Isolde.

Her attention shifts to Sylvain and she begins to smile. “Dada!”

Sylvain grins and hands her the bunny. He turns to his wife with a cocky smirk.

“Ha! See, _I’m_ her first word!” The margrave jumps up in excitement and then leans down to peck Isolde’s cheek.

Rolling her eyes, Byleth gives her daughter a rare big smile and pick her up from the matted floor, presenting her to her gushing father.

“Say it again, my flower bud.” The redhead coos happily.

Hugging the bunny close to her chest she laughs loudly. “Dada!”

The excitement of her first words is too much for Sylvain to handle. Excusing himself for a moment, he heads to his study and pulls out blank parchment.

_My darling flower bud,_

_You said your first word today! While, technically, you were calling for Dimitri, which, I admit, I am a bit annoyed at you called him Dima, and, to me, that is not a word, you said dada just after that. So, if anyone asks, I will always say that dada was your first word. You looked so happy and so cute, I nearly exploded. I love you so much my flower and I just know you are going to be a daddy’s girl. Don’t tell your mum, she will have my head. I cannot wait to keep watching you grow, my baby._

_Love you lots,_

_Your dada_

* * *

“Sylvain, get in here!” Byleth yells from the nursery room.

Isolde had started to stand recently and she is getting closer to taking her first step. The margravial couple had been watching her like a hawk hoping to be there when it finally happens.

Prompted to run, the nobleman rushes in with soaking wet hair.

“I just got out of the bath. Is she going to do it?” He crouches down next to his wife and holds out his arms to Isolde, who was currently trying to stand on her wobbly legs.

“Come to mamma and dada, Isolde!” The Archbishop stimulates, holding out her arms so the baby could come nearer. “Come here, my strong baby!”

Sylvain watches as she looks at the two of them and cries out wanting her parents.

“Don’t cry baby, just a few steps and we’ll pick you up.” The redhead encourages, even though seeing her cry makes him want to pick her up right this instant.

Byleth holds out a hand to keep him from it, and it is a good thing he did not, because a few seconds later she takes a few steps towards her two parents before falling on her butt.

“She did it, Sylvain!” The margravine cry happily as you run and scoop her up, peppering her face with kisses. “My little daughter can walk now! Walk!”

Sylvain grins and kisses the baby’s cheek, and then kisses his wife’s.

“Look at my little princess. Growing up so fast.” He says sweetly.

Inside, his heart aches a bit. It feels like just yesterday he was holding her in his arms as a new-born and here she was now, walking and babbling.

“My sweet girl,” He says softly as he kisses her tiny hand. “And my other sweet girl.”

The man turns to his wife, grabbing her chin lightly to kiss her lips. Then, he snakes his arm around the woman, hugging her from behind while cooing towards the baby.

“My perfect family.” He finishes, with a chocked voice.

It was later in the day when Sylvain found the time to sit down and write. Byleth was reading Isolde a story while the husband finished up some quick paperwork.

_My darling little girl,_

_You took your first steps today! Goddess, you’re growing up so fast! I can barely keep up. Soon you will be walking and talking and I will be able to show you off to the world. You are growing up a little too fast for my liking, though. I wish you could stay my tiny darling flower bud forever. Be as it may, when you start walking, I already have a list of places to take you. We can see the jousting matches in Fhirdiad, see the boats in Derdriu and walk the greenhouses at your mother’s place. You are going to love it, my dear, I promise. I can hear your mother reading stories to you in the other room and my heart is just bursting. Please stay like this forever._

_Love you,_

_Your dad_

* * *

“Do you have everything?” Byleth asks as she ushers her daughter to the carriage tasked to take her away.

The margrave and his wife woke up early this morning to send their daughter away to school. Since Isolde had shown much promise, and did not have to take up arms to defend the northern border as soon as fourteen, the margravial couple had decided to send her to the Fhirdiad School of Sorcery. The redhead girl was much excited to leave, but her parents not as much.

Both Byleth and Sylvain were used to Moons away from their children, as they would spend their days either in Gautier with the margrave or at Garreg Mach with the archbishop, but never have they ever let one of theirs leave home alone, and so the anxiety was great.

The margravial couple came to Fhirdiad with Isolde, as to delay her parting as much as possible. Lucky for them, the prince of Fódlan would be attending this semester, too, and so they could spend a week together at Castle Blaiddyd before the first day of classes.

“Wait, mum!” Isolde cries as her red velvet scarf falls off her head. “It came undone! Help me.”

It was only polite for the women to cover their heads in formal occasions, and the school had been adamant about it in their acceptance letter.

Sylvain, who was falling behind, bends down and picks up her scarf. Kneeling down, he places the precious garment in the Gautier House colours on top of her head, while her mother pinned it once more.

“Careful, love, you would not want to lose anything here.” He smiles at his daughter. “Your mother and I will not be able to help you if you misplace your things, so be mindful, yes?”

She grins up at her father and grabs his hand. “Sure will, dad!”

Prince Lambert crosses the courtyard after a cool goodbye to his parents, climbing the carriage and looking haughtily at the margrave, as if hurrying him.

Before the nobleman could comment on the situation, his wife placed a hand on his shoulder. “You best not let the coachman waiting, honey.”

“Yeah, sure, the _coachman_. Now, are you sure you have everything? Clothes, supplies? Do you need anything else?” Sylvain bombards her with questions as he pulls her into a hug.

“Sylvain, let the girl breathe!” Byleth says as Isolde pulls away, coughing softly.

“Do not hate me for doing what you want to do.” The man smirks, standing up.

“Sure, that is the reason for my comment. Now, Isolde, always remember your father and I love you very much and we are beyond proud of you.” The archbishop says softly as she kisses her forehead.

“I know, mum. I love you, too.” She hugs her mother tightly before facing her father.

“I’m so proud of my flower bud, make sure you show those stuck-up nobles what you got, alright?” He says with a wink.

“I love you, dad.” Wrapping her arms around Sylvain, she hugs him tightly. He can feel his heart melting right there. “I love you too mum.”

The fourteen-year-old holds out her hand for her mother to join the big group hug.

“I love you, my flower bud.” Sylvain whispers as he holds onto her tightly.

“I love you too, dear, now go make your mark.” Byleth smiles softly, kissing her daughter’s hair.

Wiping a few tears from her face, Isolde takes her trunk and hurries on the coach.

“I do not know how we are going to do this five more times.” Sylvain says as he pulls his wife into a hug, his eyes following Isolde through the window.

“We will cross that bridge when we get to it.” The woman teases as she leans back into his chest. “Is it too soon for me to harp Dimitri into letting me visit her?”

Sylvain laughs but inside he is missing Isolde already, too. For the past fourteen years, he has looked after her. Through every tantrum and injury to every pancake breakfast and bedtime story. Letting her go was so hard because he knows what aristocratic society is like and he was so scared for her. He knows she can handle herself, but it still hurts to see her gone for so long.

“She’s going to be just fine, By.” He says, kissing his wife’s forehead. “We’re going to be fine, too.”

_My darling flower bud,_

_You are not so little anymore, as today you went off to school for the first time. I already miss you, but I know you will do wonderfully there. I know you will make lots of friends. You have your mother’s smarts, so I know you will get excellent grades and dazzle every instructor. Yet, you should know that none of that matters to me. I want you to be happy and to enjoy your youth. You are my little girl and I just know you will make me and your mother proud. You have already made me so proud. I love you lots, my darling._

_Love,_

_Dad_

* * *

Sylvain knows that maybe he is being unfair, but he is not thinking rationally right now. Not after the shouting match between him and Isolde. He has let her go out every day this week with her friends, and even agreed to winter in Deirdriu with the Royal Family, so she could have more to do while in vacation.

Preparing to leave for the Officers’ Academy, his lovely daughter is heading full speed towards the dreaded teenage years. She is no longer his sweet innocent little girl. She is growing up and it kills him.

One afternoon is all he demanded, as in to spend quality family time before his wife had to return to Garreg Mach, but the conversation turned into a massive argument, with Isolde claiming that he was too overbearing and Sylvain saying that she does not care about her family. He regrets saying what he said but the hurt in his heart caused him to lash out.

Byleth knocks softly on the bedroom door. “Sylvain? Do you want to talk?”

This was their first major argument and the archbishop knows both sides are hurting. After consoling their crying daughter, she decides to check up on her brooding husband. He is currently working at the desk but, with anger clouding his mind, he is not getting much done.

The margravine sits down in the bed and taps the spot next to her invitingly, to which he does not respond.

“Are you okay?” She asks softly.

Sylvain still has his back to his wife as he slams down his hand on the table.

“She hates me.” He mumbles sadly.

The anger fades into hurt as he collapses his head into his arms.

“She doesn’t hate you, Sylvain, dear.” Byleth said, walking over to her husband and kneeling down next to him. She takes his hand, kissing it softly.

“You heard her.” He says, grimacing at the memory.

The image of Isolde, tears streaming down her face, stomps her foot and yells “I hate you!”, before storming away to her private chambers elsewhere in the castle.

“She does not mean it, Sylvain. She loves you.” Byleth rests her head on his knees.

Opening the drawer of his desk, she searches for the letters he wrote before and took with him everywhere.

The woman hands them to Sylvain, who just stares at them. “I think you should write another one.”

Getting out a paper and a quill, she hands them to him. Sylvain only wanted to capture the happy moments, but raising a child came with the good and the bad.

_My flower bud,_

_We had our first big argument today. I said so many things I did not mean and I am sure you did too. I know how exciting it is to have friends and spend time with them, and the truth is I am terrified of you growing up and leaving us behind. I hate that you are getting older. Soon, you are not going to need your old man anymore and it hurts me to think about that. You have grown into such a wonderful young lady and I am sorry for how I reacted. I doubt this will be our last disagreement, but I hope it is the last big one. My heart breaks to think that I made you cry like that. No matter what I say to you, and I will probably say something stupid again, as your mother tells me, I will never stop loving you. No matter how big you get, you will always be my baby girl._

_Love,_

_Your very sorry dad_

* * *

“Sylvain, you cannot challenge a seventeen-year-old teen to a duel.” Byleth shouts through the archbishop’s chambers in Garreg Mach.

Their daughter has gotten her heart broken for the first time and Sylvain is absolutely furious. He warped over from Gautier to the monastery, carrying with him the Lance of Ruin and all sorts of nasty spells to cast on the Gloucester scion.

“Like hell I can!” He growls angrily as he looks over her shoulder to see his baby crying on the couch.

“Sylvain, dear. As the archbishop, I cannot let you use a Relic on a teen, and as your wife, I have to stop you from declaring a blood feud over usual happenstances of teenage years.” The woman said harshly, and then relaxed her expression, caressing her husband’s face. “I understand you are mad, and I am, too, but this is normal. This is a pedagogical opportunity for our daughter. From now on, she will make better choices.”

“But he hurt my flower bud…” His heart aches when he catches a glimpse of her tear-stained cheeks.

Sighing, the woman takes his hand and lead him to the bed. “Sylvain, I know you have feelings and opinions, but what she needs now is her mum, her dad and a lot of comfort.”

Kissing his wrist to calm him down, he melts into her touch.

The man sighs. “I will be right back okay?”

Byleth nods and let Sylvain slip off to her office as she goes back to the couch and wraps her arms around Isolde.

_My Isolde,_

_You got your heartbroken today by that Gloucester pansy. Seeing you so upset breaks my heart. When you sent that letter telling me you got a boyfriend, I flipped out. Your mother had to fly with the mail and calm me down, but I was already scared for you and your heart. When you came to your mother crying because he broke your heart, I was ready to beat him up for you. I am writing this because I want you to know that you deserve the world and no good-for-nothing noble boy should make you feel worse. You are my baby girl and no guy deserves you. I am off to get some snacks for you now, but please remember that you deserve everything, my flower bud._

_I love you,_

_Dad_

* * *

“Are you ready for this?” Byleth asks lightly as she wraps her arm around Sylvain’s.

“Never.” He says with a small smile.

It was Isolde’s wedding day to the Crown Prince of Fódlan and Sylvain was filled with so many emotions. He was so happy for his flower bud, who, for reasons that escaped his comprehension, actually loved the twerp, who was still as sullen as ever, but letting her go is one of the hardest things he has to do.

“You look beautiful, Your Grace.” Sylvain kisses his wife’s forehead, making her giggle like a schoolgirl.

“I will meet you at the ceremony. You have a very important job to do, mister, and you better hope I do not hear any complaints about it.” She lightly taps his nose and hurry off to prepare to officiate the ceremony.

Sylvain makes his way over to the bride’s door.

“Flower bud? Are you ready?” He asks nervously.

The door opens to reveal Isolde in her wedding gown, all dressed up holding a bouquet of beautiful lilies. Once again, the margrave is speechless. Tears well up in his eyes as his daughter looks up at him with her big beautiful amber eyes, the same ones that stared at him when he first held her in his arms, over two decades ago. The same ones that would look up at him for comfort when she got hurt and for excitement when she felt bored.

“You look beautiful, flower bud.” Sylvain whispers out.

Plucking a lily from her bouquet he tucks it behind her ear.

“Thank you, dad.” She says as she looks up at the aging man.

“You’re growing up too fast, love.” The nobleman says softly. “But I’m so proud of you.”

He can barely hold back his tears as he pulls her into a tight hug.

“Oh dad, cut it out. Else I will cry and then aunt Mercedes will be mad.” Isolde hugs back tightly.

“Let her. I know it is a little early for gifts, but I wanted to give this to you.” The margrave pulls out a stack of envelopes. Some of them look new while some look many years old.

“I have been writing these letters since the day you were born, and now is time to deliver them.” He dried his eyes with his sleeve. “I know I have never been the best at expressing how I feel, but I think these do it for me.”

Isolde carefully takes them into her hand and flips through them. Years of memories, of words from her father. She begins to fan herself in order to stop the tears but they come anyway.

“I love you so much, dad.” She cries as hugs the letters to her chest.

“Here, I will hold onto them for now.” Sylvain takes them back and slips them into his pocket. “I love you too my darling flower bud.”

Sylvain leans forward and kisses his daughter’s forehead as she beings to wipe away her tears. Holding out his arm, Isolde links hers and leans against his shoulder.

“You know, if you want to back out now and go back home, I will have your mother smooth things over with Dimitri. He always tripped over himself to do whatever she says.” The father of the bride jokes lightly as the two of them wait for the music to start playing.

Rolling her eyes, Isolde smiles. “This is not a goodbye forever, dad. I will still come around for the free food.”

The man chuckles as the music begins to play.

“Are you ready, flower bud?” The margrave asks as the doors start to open.

“I am.” She said, confidently. “Are you ready dad?”

Looking down at his lovely daughter, Sylvain flashes back to everything. From the moment he held her in his arms to right now, giving her away at this damn wedding. All the good days and the bad days. He knows he would never truly be ready to let go but seeing how happy she looks, how much she has grown, he knows he will do it anyways. It fills him with pride.

“Yeah, I think I am, my flower bud.”

_My wonderful, lovely flower,_

_It is your wedding day tomorrow and I do not know how to feel. I am so happy you have found someone who loves you, regardless of my personal opinions on the matter. I am happy for you, but knowing how big you are makes me feel so old. It feels like just yesterday I held you in my arms for the first time. I watched you grow and learn. Not all of it was happy, mind you, and some days were particularly difficult, but I am still glad. You have taken everything you have learned from me and your mother and you have become such a wonderful lady. I know whatever you do, you are going to be amazing. I love you so much my flower bud. Never forget that. I will always be here for you and, no matter how big you get, you are my flower bud._

_I love you with all my heart,_

_Your dad,_

_Sylvain Gautier_


End file.
